


Playing Safe

by Callisto



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-05
Updated: 2011-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam knows just what Dean needs after a tense hunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Safe

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of hand holding by the angel on my shoulder, ancasta, who also beta'd. My first attempt at a D/s dynamic

“Knees, Dean. Fucking now.”

Amazing. Nothing is coming right at him. There’s no flying spirit with her claws out, no pissed hunter with a .45, and no demon with an axe to grind. But damn if Dean doesn’t go to his denim-clad knees as soon as the words are out of Sam’s mouth. Right there on the threadbare carpet of a salted motel room.

Sam leaves him like that a moment, lets him settle. And it has nothing to do with the fact that Dean’s face is inches from Sam’s groin, every breath a cock-twitching wash of warm air.

Sam looks down, widens his stance a little. Dean’s head isn’t bowed. No amount of submission is going to do that. But his arms hang at his sides and fuck, he is not moving.

Because Sam hasn’t told him to.

And if that isn’t the hottest thing Sam has ever had the privilege to learn about his brother, you can burn them both in hell one more time.

He thinks about putting a hand on Dean. Maybe on his shoulder. Or his hair. There is a thin line of blood at Dean’s temple from the hunt, and he knows he should probably give them each time to clean up first. But he’s getting good at reading the signs, at knowing when Dean needs this.

Besides, since he looked over from shotgun and saw that muscle jump along Dean’s jaw and tighten him into silence, Sam has been hard at the thought of how to fix things.

“Come closer.”

Dean does. Shuffles on his knees a little.

God damn.

Sam finally puts his right hand on Dean’s head, urging him forward that last inch. “Open up,” he breathes. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back when Dean does, because holy hell, who knew Dean mouthing him through heated denim would be this fucking exquisite?

It’s taken four demons and a poltergeist along for the ride to get them here this time. Not to the sex itself, though. They may be fucked up, but they’re not that fucked up. Sam knows there is an entire PhD in why this works for them when it does, but hey, no professor he knows has been through hell, heaven, and an apocalypse on Earth. So they can all bite him.

Pretty much like Dean is, actually.

Sam groans, pushes his fingers into Dean’s hair as Dean’s teeth almost make it through the denim. “Come on. Get your gorgeous mouth around my dick now.” Sam leans down. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth, Dean. Fuck those pretty cock-sucking lips of yours...” Dean’s eyes are closed, but Sam feels the noise he makes at those words, feels it vibrate into his cock even as Dean sucks in a breath and finally raises his hands to go for Sam’s zipper.

The dirty talk from Sam used to be when Dean blushed and Sam giggled. But practice has made them pretty perfect by now.

Prior to this particular practice, they’d spent nearly two days coralled by said demons and poltergeist into a run-down barn with a bunch of panicked farmers. Dean the one barking orders and keeping all but two alive, Dean the one everyone looked to first when the doors and windows had begun to rattle...

Dean the one who needs all that off his shoulders for a while.

Sam sighs at the relief when his cock finally springs free of his jeans. The cool night air in the motel feels wonderful on his skin after he’s been hard and trapped in denim for so long. He licks his lips, can feel Dean’s breath ghost across the tip, feel Dean’s fingers around the base near his balls...

Nothing else happens.

He sways a little, looks down. Dean is waiting. Mouth parted, almost there, but Dean is fucking _waiting_.

Sam swallows hard. “Suck me. God, suck me, Dean. _Christ_...” The last said on a gasp, when Dean surges forward that last inch and swirls his tongue into the slit the second he gets there. Sam throws his head back and groans. Forget the cool night air, it’s this wet heat that’s wonderful.

“Deeper,” says Sam, increasing the pressure of his fingers either side of Dean’s head. “Fucking deeper, man. And use your hand.”

Dean does, twisting his hand up and down the shaft. Dean hollows out his cheeks, pulling Sam into him with the force of it and almost gagging himself in the process. Sam doesn’t tell him to stop. Instead, he scrunches his fingers in harder, feels Dean respond with a faster twist of his hand, up and down from his lips to Sam’s balls while Sam rocks in and out of his mouth. Sam’s head goes back as Dean tightens the suction and his grip. He could come like this. In about one more minute it would be lights out and it would be fucking wonderful. But that’s not what he wants. For himself or for Dean, whose back must be killing him by now.

“Dean...enough.”

Dean pulls off with a wet pop and sags forward to rest his head on Sam’s left hip, breathing heavily and raggedly into the skin above Sam’s boxers. Sam shivers, wonders if Dean is going to say anything. Most of the time he can’t shut Dean up, has to listen to endless porn-speak about what they’re going to do and how and why, until Sam either kisses or blows him quiet. But when this kind of sex starts up between them, Dean goes quiet all by himself. It’s nothing they ever acknowledge, but it always makes Sam choke a little. Like his brother will even give speech into Sam’s care for a while.

“Hey, come on. Up, Dean. Stand up now.” He can’t help gentling his voice. Dean sways a little as he gets to his feet, and Sam puts his fingers under his chin to tilt it. Lust, exhaustion, dirt; it’s all there.

Dean’s cock is straining against the denim it’s trapped in, and Sam grinds against it with his own as he takes Dean’s mouth in a rough kiss. It’s almost painful, but the rub and heat of Dean’s cock onto his sensitized skin through denim feels amazing. His fingers make quick work of the buttons on Dean’s flannel shirt. He pulls back just enough to get his hands on the hem of Dean’s tee and get it over his head. Then Sam sucks Dean’s tongue back into his mouth and goes for the buttons on Dean’s fly. He takes Dean’s hands, rests them on his own hips and tilts his lower body away from his brother. Because if Dean’s cock or hands get anywhere near Sam’s dick right now, he’s not going to last. And he already knows exactly how he wants Dean to come. Next, he tugs down Dean’s jeans, stopping when he realizes Dean’s mud-encrusted boots are in the way. He crouches down, starts on the laces.

Most of the time they undress without ceremony, the desire to get naked and horizontal against the nearest surface outweighing any urge to tease around with anything as ridiculous as a button. Sam tried a kind of go-go dancer approach once upon a time, and ended up collapsing in a fit of giggles when Dean sprayed a mouthful of bourbon all over him. So that has been pretty much it for stripping as foreplay.

But maybe not. Dean’s right hand finds Sam’s shoulder for balance when he’s pulling his foot up and Sam halts for a second. Has to swallow. Because it’s the mirror of a thousand times between them. Of Dean cursing Sam for tying his sneakers up so tight, of Dean teaching him a double bow in the first place, and of Dean letting him jabber about dinosaurs while he undid the laces and yelled at Sam for leaving his goddamn pajamas on the floor again.

No pajamas now. Nothing like that. But still, this is yet another ritual Sam has started up on nights like these. Everything— _everything_ —in his hands for once. He straightens, begins to get his own shit undone.

“On the bed, Dean. All fours. And don’t you fucking dare touch yourself.”

Yeah.

Definitely no pajamas.

 

Dean may be tired and tense from keeping people alive for two days, but he wastes no time getting over to the bed and spreading himself out, just as Sam instructed. His head hangs low, almost down on his forearms.

Sam fists his cock slowly as he walks over and climbs onto the bed behind his brother.

“God, Dean. So gorgeous,” he murmurs.

He is. Stitch and battle scarred, Dean’s back is still the most beautful play of skin on muscle Sam has ever seen. He never gets tired of this view.

Dean turns his head and tries to see him. It makes all those lovely muscles move again, and Sam’s breath catches.

“Fuck. Just...hold onto the headboard, Dean. Get up on your knees more.”

Dean complies, and Sam uses that extra room to press in close and start kiss-biting a slow trail across the back of Dean’s shoulders, watching them ripple every time his teeth pull off. Not that this is about pain. It isn’t, though Sam knows there will be marks on both their skins before the night is over. Since Dean is now gripping the wooden slats of the headboard, his shoulder blades are more pronounced. Sam licks a stripe up the left one, loving the groan he hears. He has such a fucking shoulder kink when it comes to his brother.

Sam’s dick is hard and steadily leaking into the groove of Dean’s ass as he plays up and down Dean’s back with his mouth. Dean is arching up whenever he can, twisting and turning but never taking his hands off the slats.

“Good boy,” purrs Sam, moving down his spine. Such a rush to be able to say that.

“Stay on your knees, Dean, okay? Whatever I do.”

Sam has one more trick up his sleeve, one more move to get Dean out of his mind and boneless before he fucks him into the mattress.

He reaches for the whiskey bottle he knows is next to the bed. Dean sees him do it.

“Fuck... _Sam_...”

It’s broken, unbidden, and it’s because Dean now knows exactly what’s coming.

“Shh...” Sam’s left hand strokes down Dean’s ass as his right trickles a little more of the amber liquid down the base of Dean’s spine. It only has one place to go before it hits the sheets, and Sam really doesn’t care how much of a mess they’re going to make of those anyway.

Sam takes three steady pulls himself before he sets the bottle down and eases Dean’s ass apart. Wet and sticky, he can see the whiskey shining up Dean’s hole and the first thing he does, is reach out with the flat of his tongue to taste. Dean practically howls into the mattress.

“Stay still,” growls Sam, clamping one arm firmly around Dean’s hips as he uses the thumb of his right hand to stretch Dean’s skin and give him all the room he needs. “Gonna get you all ready for me, Dean. Fuck you wide and wet with just my tongue and a little whiskey. How’s that sound?”

He reaches out with his tongue again, this time tightening the muscle and keeping it sharp. Dean writhes when Sam finds the target and Sam can’t help smirking, even as he starts sucking and licking his way in deeper.

The first time Sam did this to Dean, Sam was drunk. Figured he had to be to get this last tick on his gay-things-to-do-with-Dean-in-bed list. He had guys before Dean, but he never rimmed any of them. Just didn’t like the idea of putting his tongue there. His dick all lubed up was one thing, his mouth was something else. But like everything else in his life, Dean blasted through any barriers Sam thought he had, and made it okay to stick his tongue in someone’s ass once in a while. It’s still only an occasional thing between them, but Dean has made it okay for Sam to enjoy himself, too. Because whiskey aside—and he still takes a deep breath, together with a shot or two to get his mind on board each time—he has no trouble closing his eyes and getting into it once he’s planted that first magical slide of lips and tongue. And it’s all down to Dean really, because holy fuck, Dean _melts_ when Sam does this. Turns himself inside out and makes the most gutteral noises and whimpers Sam has ever heard.

He’s melting again now, pushing his ass back and almost sobbing into the bed. And he’s still on his knees, hasn’t buckled an inch. Though they’re shuddering to beat the band. One final spit-slick thrust with his tongue and Sam backs out, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, and then using that same moisture to rub his thumb around Dean’s opening instead. No way he’s letting it go now. His dick is so hard it hurts, and he can only imagine how Dean is feeling. Because on his knees with his hands barely holding onto the slats anymore, Dean is not getting any real friction, no matter how far down he goes to bury his face in the mattress.

“’S okay Dean. C’mere. Hey, come back for me.” Sam gets his left arm around Dean’s shoulders, pulls him away from the slats and back onto his heels.

“Sam...you gotta. Sam...I _can’t_...”

Sam gets a good look at Dean, and his brother seems strung out. His pupils are blown, his cheeks are wet, and his color is positively oxygen-starved. As for his cock... Shit, his cock is this huge, angry, red obscenity, jutting out so high and proud, Sam is tempted to bend down and end things with his mouth there and then.

But that’s not what he wants for Dean. For either of them.

And this is his play tonight. One hundred percent.

So instead he crowds up on his knees behind Dean on the bed.

“Home stretch, baby. Home stretch,” he breathes into Dean’s right ear. He switches arms and goes for the whiskey bottle again with his right.

“Open up, Dean. Nuh-uh. Hands by your sides.”

He tilts the bottle carefully into Dean’s mouth, letting Dean’s head fall back onto his left shoulder as Dean closes his eyes and pulls on it greedily. Sam strokes his throat with his left hand as Dean swallows, loving the motion of it.

He takes the bottle back, tilts it into his own mouth and deliberately lets the large mouthful he took flow out again. Down his chin, neck, onto his collarbone. “Oops,” he says, locking eyes with Dean. He licks his lips. “Get that, would you?”

Two chests heave in unison for a single heartbeat, and then Dean is on him, sucking up those amber trails like a vampire on blood. Dean rocks Sam back on his heels with the force of it, and all Sam can do is wrap his hand around Dean’s neck and hang on. Sam doesn’t let him twist all the way around, because he knows Dean is going to go for friction on his dick if he does, but Sam lets him turn enough to get his own neck and chest throughly marked up.

“Dean. Jesus...wait.” Sam is on the edge, the pleasure and bite of Dean on his skin too heady for him to stay in control much longer. He yanks Dean up from biting around his nipple, draws him up to a fierce kiss. He pulls back suddenly, squeezing the back of Dean’s neck and darting forward for one last lick of that beautiful, swollen mouth. Slowly he pushes Dean back around. “Hands flat on the bed. I’mma finish you now.”

Sam lubes up his fingers once Dean is on all fours again. Dean’s head is hanging low, his breathing is a mess of gulps, and Sam is pretty sure neither of them has a whole lot of stamina left.

“I got you, Dean. I got you. You know that, right?” Sam waits until he gets a ragged nod before pushing one finger in. Dean keens, arches foward, and Sam holds him steady whiles he works in another. He rubs and stretches, twists in a third—probably too soon, but fuck he’s got to get in there.

“Sam... _Christ_...”

Sam eases his fingers out, gratified by the way Dean groans and chases back for them. He leans in, presses a kiss to Dean’s hip. “Shh, I got something better. Just hang on, okay. Hang the fuck on, Dean.” He squirts the last of the lube onto his dick, positions himself, and watches Dean’s hole slowly take him.

The second his cockhead pops that ring of muscle, Sam wants to sheath himself in the tight heat instantly. But even with Dean as prepped as he is, Sam knows he’s got to give his brother some time. Three jerks and pushes is all he can give him, though, before he’s balls deep and Dean is one massive quiver, head to hole.

“Dean...” He strokes his right hand down Dean’s back, keeps the other on Dean’s hip for balance. It’s the only comfort he can give before he starts to move, because this feels too fucking perfect to stay still.

Part of what makes it perfect is no latex between them. There hasn’t been any since Dean got tested in the weirdest birthday gift ever the year Sam got back. Sam followed suit, and they haven’t bought a condom since. It’s just him, and it’s Dean, and it’s the only person he has ever had this with.

Sam takes a breath, because if he thinks too much about shit like that he’s going to bawl instead of come, and no fucking way. Not tonight. So he slams in, pulls out, rotates his hips a little and does it again, this time knowing he’s hit pay dirt from the way Dean growls and bucks beneath him. He does it again, same angle, and Dean’s neck snaps back at the sensation. Sam wonders if he could make Dean come like this, with no hand or mouth getting anywhere near his dick. But his own rhythm is starting to stutter as it builds, and Dean is beyond hoarse with the noise he’s making.

“Let go, Dean.” Sam slows his rhythm for a second. “Sit...back.” He doesn’t wait for his strung-out brother to understand him, just bands his left arm tightly across Dean’s chest, and hauls him up and away from the pillows. “I’ll do the work... I’ll do it, Dean. Just... _fuck_...” He can already feel the burn in his thigh muscles from the angle and the weight he’s now supporting, but Dean is impaled beautifully, almost sitting on him with his back to Sam’s chest.

Sam starts to move, not as hard and deeply as before because he simply can’t. Dean’s head still jerks back. It finds Sam’s left shoulder and Sam tightens his hold. He looks down and finally gets his right hand around Dean’s straining cock. Dean’s eyes slam shut instantly, and his chest hitches on a violent sob. Sam kisses a sweat-drenched temple. “Easy, easy,” he murmurs. He keeps his mouth and nose pressed there while he thrusts once, twice, cock and hand in unison.

Dean’s orgasm rips though him, there’s no other word for it. Sam clutches him close as Dean’s entire body seems to convulse. The clenching on Sam’s dick is incredible, and Sam has about two seconds on Dean before his own vision whites out and he follows, thrusting raggedly and kissing curses into Dean’s hair while he comes and comes and comes...

When he gets his eyes open, he and Dean are pretty much as they were. Dean’s head is still tilted back on his shoulder, eyes closed, chest rising and falling fast.

“Dean?” One cracked syllable just about makes it out of his mouth.

“Yeah?”

Sam swallows, gulps in more air. “You okay?”

Dean still doesn’t open his eyes or move his head, but a smile creases his profile. “I am awesome, Sammy,” he gets out.

Sam feels his own smile start. He relaxes his hold across Dean’s chest, kisses his temple one last time, and slides his hands down to Dean’s hips in an attempt to lift him up a little. His cock is all the way soft now and his leg muscles are really starting to burn.

“Dean...”

“Not fucking moving. You’re comfy.”

Sam groans as he separates them, leaving Dean wobbly on all fours again when he stands gingerly. “Dick,” he says fondly, slapping Dean’s ass on the way past. Just because he can, and because Dean faceplanting into the bed again is totally worth it.

When he gets back from a perfunctory wash-up in the bathroom, he sees Dean has already moved himself into the other bed. Sam’s T-shirt is a rumpled mess on the floor next to it, so he’s guessing that’s Dean’s clean up for tonight. He switches off the light and climbs in under a nice, clean sheet. One of the best things about this is they fuck in one bed, destroy it completely, and then sleep in the other one. He turns onto his left side so he’s facing Dean, who’s also lying on his side. There’s plenty of light from the streetlamp outside the window to see Dean has his eyes closed, but he’s not asleep yet.

Sam can also see the marks on Dean’s neck and chest, not all of them from kissing. He remembers having his arm clamped across Dean pretty tightly at one point.

He reaches out to touch them lightly, unsurprised when Dean makes a face.

“’M tired, Sam. Don’t.”

Sam bites his bottom lip. “Maybe we need a safe word, Dean. For when it goes down like this and I get all caveman on your ass.”

Dean yawns, settles further into the pillow.

“Dude. It’s you. I don’t need a safe word.”

Sam blinks. He thinks about inching forward.

Dean doesn’t even open his eyes.“If you make this a moment, I will end you.”

Sam inches forward anyway, brushes Dean’s hair back. “How about Spartacus?”

Dean opens his eyes. “How about a smack in the mouth? Shut the fuck up and let me sleep, will you? Jesus.”

Sam smiles, nudges into Dean’s neck and kisses him there.

Mind blowing orgasms aside, Dean is the older one again, back in charge...

“Move your leg then, Grumpy.”

...kind of.

******


End file.
